“Oh?” The human-pig was puzzled. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Old Lü also looked confused. “Kid, what are you talking about? Does this game have a ‘guaranteed win’ method?”
“I wouldn’t call it a guaranteed win,” Qi Xia shook his head. “But ‘pig games’ are definitely not ‘luck-based’ games—they’re pure ‘probability.'”
“What do you mean?” Old Lü frowned. “No matter how you distribute them, the number of black and white pieces is fifty each. So the probability of picking any piece is always one-half, right?”
“Is that so?” Qi Xia shook his head noncommittally. “It’s precisely this point that makes the game seem like it leans toward ‘luck.'”
“Let me be honest with you, kid,” Old Lü leaned in and whispered to Qi Xia. “The first time, I separated the black and white pieces into different bowls. That way, if I picked the bowl with the black pieces, I’d win. But I lost. The second time, I evenly distributed the black and white pieces into both bowls, and I still didn’t draw a black one. My luck was just terrible.”
Old Lü stroked his chin and continued, “If you think about it, breaking the ratio—making one bowl have more black pieces and the other fewer—would actually make it even harder for me to draw a black one. So no matter how you look at it, there’s no guaranteed win.”
Qi Xia nodded. “This game can’t be ‘guaranteed to win.’ I can only try to increase my odds as much as possible.”
“Oh? You have a plan?”
Instead of answering, Qi Xia turned to the human-pig. “I’m ready. Let’s begin.”
The human-pig chuckled and gestured with an open hand. “Begin the distribution.”
Qi Xia examined the two identical bowls and the black and white pieces, identical in texture and feel. He silently grabbed a handful and placed them into one bowl.
Old Lü watched quietly, unsure how Qi Xia planned to distribute the hundred pieces.
Qi Xia continued grabbing pieces and tossing them into the bowl, seemingly without counting.
“Hey… is this really going to work?” Old Lü asked hesitantly. “Shouldn’t you keep track of how many you’ve put in?”
Qi Xia didn’t respond, just kept dropping pieces into one bowl.
Old Lü and Lin Qin exchanged glances, both baffled.
Only when Qi Xia had placed all the pieces into a single bowl did he finally stop.
The pig-headed man grew visibly annoyed. “Hey! That’s cheating! You have to split them between both bowls!”
“I know,” Qi Xia nodded. “The distribution isn’t finished yet.”
With that, he picked up a single black piece from the bowl and dropped it into the other.
“My distribution is complete,” Qi Xia said calmly, looking up at the human-pig.
“What?!”
Everyone present was stunned.
What kind of distribution was this?
One bowl with a single black piece, the other with the remaining ninety-nine?
Old Lü stared at the two bowls, his pupils flickering. After a long pause, he murmured, “Brilliant… absolutely brilliant…”
He understood Qi Xia’s strategy.
No matter how Old Lü had distributed the pieces before, the “optimal split” was always a fifty-fifty chance in each bowl.
That way, he’d have a fifty percent chance of drawing a black piece.
But Qi Xia had broken that equilibrium.
He made one bowl a guaranteed win—100% chance of drawing black—while the other bowl’s odds remained as close to fifty percent as possible.
Since the first step was randomly selecting a bowl, Qi Xia had a good chance of directly picking the bowl with the black piece, winning outright.
Even if luck wasn’t on his side and he picked the other bowl, his odds of drawing black were still nearly fifty percent—technically forty-nine.
He had essentially given himself a hidden “insurance” for victory.
The human-pig’s eyes behind the mask visibly darkened.
“Are you trying to outsmart me?” the human-pig’s tone shifted, no longer childish but laced with cunning.
“Outsmart you?” Qi Xia smirked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t broken any rules. How is this outsmarting you?”
The human-pig pulled an eyepatch from his pocket and handed it to Qi Xia. “I’ve met many clever people. Most of them have terrible luck.”
Qi Xia nodded, taking the eyepatch. “I can’t argue with that. Clever people rarely rely on luck.”
“But in the end, this is gambling,” the human-pig said darkly. “And the most important thing in gambling is ‘strong luck.’ You’re smart, but how’s your luck?”
“Don’t know,” Qi Xia replied. “But we’re about to find out.”
He slowly put on the eyepatch and placed his hands on the table, motionless.
The human-pig took the two bowls and began shaking them to mix the pieces.
This rule had originally been meant to counter cheaters who would stack white pieces at the bottom and black ones on top, making it easier to pick a black piece.
But now, against Qi Xia’s strategy, the rule was useless.
The human-pig knew that no matter how he mixed the pieces, this man would unhesitatingly make his choice.
After all, Qi Xia had already done everything he could. Now, he was leaving the rest to “luck.”
With that in mind, the human-pig casually shook the bowls, swapped their positions, and placed them back on the table.
“Which bowl will you choose?” the human-pig asked. “Your left… or your right?”
“I…” Qi Xia lowered his head in thought, then spoke. “Left. I choose left.”
Lin Qin and Old Lü stiffened, sensing disaster.
Because Qi Xia’s left was the bowl with ninety-nine pieces!
A glint of triumph flickered in the human-pig’s eyes. “Good. Now, pick a piece from it.”
He pushed the bowl toward Qi Xia mockingly, as if waiting for him to fail.
Qi Xia’s lips curled slightly. “You wanted to test my luck, right? This bowl is perfect for that.”
“Wh-what?” The human-pig froze. “You… you knew this bowl was ‘wrong’?!”
“Pretty much,” Qi Xia said, slowly reaching into the bowl. “Choosing between ‘left and right’ is like playing rock-paper-scissors. On the surface, it’s balanced probability, but human thought patterns introduce bias.”
“What do you mean?” Old Lü asked, confused.
“Just like how most people throw scissors first in rock-paper-scissors—it’s not truly balanced,” Qi Xia explained. “‘Paper’ leaves the hand wide open, making people feel insecure, while ‘rock’ clenches the fist, subconsciously feeling oppressive. So ‘scissors’ becomes the neutral choice. The same applies to left and right. Subconsciously, people feel ‘left is safer’ because the majority are right-handed. They use their right hand more often, so it’s more likely to get injured. Thus, when choosing a ‘safe’ side, they instinctively pick ‘left.'”
“You… really aren’t ordinary,” the human-pig said.
“No need to flatter me. You understand this too,” Qi Xia replied. “You didn’t place the ninety-nine pieces on my left by accident, did you?”
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